


Into These Stones Horizons Sing

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Darkness, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: After Quentin learns that his dad is sick and accidentally kills cancer puppy (RIP!), Eliot wants to distract him. From any other timeline than the current one. Pretty fluffy, slightly angsty.





	Into These Stones Horizons Sing

Well, shit. “I’m so sorry, Eliot.” He sighed, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to…"

Eliot gently scooped up Gerald into his hands, gingerly kissing his head before setting him back down on the table again. “No. It’s…” He sighed. “I mean, honestly, keeping him alive at this point? Well, if PETA had known about it, this shit would have been shut down by protestors years ago.” He ran a hand softly over Gerald’s body. “But, still, you have to tell the Dean.”

When he got back to the Cottage, the party had all but died out. Soft music was playing indistinctly, and a couple he recognized from his AP class were lazily making out in the corner seat by the window. Eliot was the only other person in the room, nursing a drink on the couch. He had a spread out in front of him on the coffee table, a bottle with two Solo cups overturned on top of it, two flashlights and a blanket. He looked up at Quentin. “How’d it go?”

Quentin sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him. “Nothing revelelatory.” He leaned back. “Look, Eliot, I really am sorry.”

Eliot gave him a half smile and set his drink down. “Come on.” He stood, picking up a flashlight and the blanket and handing them to Quentin. “You take these. I’ll manage the rest.”

Quentin just looked dumbly at the items. “Where're we going?”

He gestured towards the door with the other flashlight, smiling. “I want to show you something.”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “Eliot, I…”

“Do you trust me?” Eliot seemed to be really asking.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then, come _on_.” He turned and walked towards the door, and Quentin, resigned, got up and followed him out into the night.

Eliot led them across the Sea, passing the fountains and the maze, winding his way beyond the Welter’s stadium. Quentin realized he hadn’t been this far back before, the trees seemed to press in a bit, narrowing the path until it was completely blocked. Eliot held back a few branches for him, indicating he should go through. What he found on the other side was the opening to a cave. He frowned, shining his flashlight towards the entrance, the darkness swallowing the light almost immediately. “We’re going in there?”

Eliot shone his flashlight towards him. “Yep.”

He felt suddenly nervous. “Eliot…what if there are wild animals in there? I mean, there could be bears, cougars…”

Eliot laughed. “Oh, Q. This is Brakebills. The only wild animals here are of the topiary variety.”

He shook his head. “What about bats? Bats are terrible disease vectors! They carry rabies, Ebola…”

“I don’t think you are going to get Ebola in upstate New York.” Eliot smirked at him. “Besides. No bats. I promise. This cave is magically enchanted.”

“So, what? Darth Vader's gonna to show up?”

Eliot snorted. “Only if you’re lucky.” He shoved his flashlight under his armpit and held out his hand towards Quentin. “Come on. This part's a little tricky.”

Quentin just stared at him. “Is it cliché to say I have a bad feeling about this?”

Eliot shook his hand, indicating Quentin should take it. “Come on, young Skywalker. I would never hurt you.” Quentin took his hand, and Eliot threw his voice lower. “Not unless you asked me to.”

Quentin had the fleeting thought that maybe this was all part of an elaborate seduction scheme, but then quickly realized he was overthinking things. This was _Eliot_ , the undisputed champion of the double entendre, for whom flirting seemed like the default factory setting.

Eliot stepped forward carefully, and Quentin moved to follow, immediately losing his footing on the loose gravel. “Whoops.” Eliot held his hand tightly, keeping him upright. “I gotcha.” Eliot ducked into the cave, stooping a little, his flashlight bouncing erratically off the stone walls.

The tunnel widened enough that Quentin could stand fully, but Eliot still had to hunch a bit over. Quentin realized they were gradually going downwards as the path sloped beneath them. Eliot stopped in front of a wide expanse, shining his light around a large opening.

Quentin looked around in wonder at the cavernous interior. The space was _huge_ , cathedral-like, almost like he was in the pirate’s cove in “Goonies” and One-Eyed Willy could show up at any moment. But, it was completely empty, almost spherical, and so large he couldn’t tell if the far wall contained a tunnel that continued onwards.

Eliot took a tentative step downwards. “Careful.” He slid his foot a little forwards, pulling Quentin with him, gently leading him down the slope of the room until they reached the middle. “Let’s put the blanket down here.” He put down his flashlight and the bottle and helped Quentin unfurl the blanket before sitting cross-legged on it. “Come'ere.” He pointed at a spot on the blanket with his flashlight.

Quentin sat down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” He shone his flashlight all around the walls, his voice slightly echoing.

Eliot shrugged. “This guy I was hooking up with first year. He brought me here to impress me.”

Quentin nodded. “So, were you? Impressed?”

Eliot chuckled. “Thoroughly. Unfortunately, this was pretty much the most impressive thing about him, so it didn’t last. Bought him another week though.” Eliot pulled the cups off of the bottle, pouring them both generous drinks, handing one to Quentin.

Quentin shook his head. “You’re terrible.” They clinked glasses together, the plastic making that little pinging noise as they came in contact, and he took a big swallow. “This is pretty amazing, though.”

Eliot hummed in agreement. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.” He clicked off his flashlight, then, reaching over, clicked off Quentin’s as well. They were immediately plunged into a darkness that Quentin wasn’t prepared for, and slightly panicked, he blindly reached over, grabbing Eliot’s arm. “Hey, it’s ok,” Eliot said soothingly. “I’m right here.”

Quentin took a deep, steadying breath, stretching the fingers of his free hand out into the darkness. He had never been in such absolute blackness before, and found it to be equal parts terrifying and wonderful. As far as distraction techniques went, this was a good one.

“You ok?” Eliot’s voice was almost disembodied, floating in the air. “If you're too freaked out…”

“No. I’m ok.” Quentin tried to prove it by letting his hand drop from Eliot’s arm, grabbing at the blanket beneath him instead, needing to feel grounded to something.

“Ok.” Eliot cleared his throat, hesitating a bit, and then began to sing.

_Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear; And it shows them pearly white…_

“Oh!” Quentin’s eyes went wide, and he gasped, grabbing Eliot’s arm again. The walls were _glowing_ , changing colors with every note, in tune with Eliot as he crooned.

Eliot smiled at him, eyes dancing with the lights before continuing.

_Just a jackknife has old MacHeath, babe; And he keeps it, ah, out of sight._

Quentin laughed, genuinely delighted. This was honestly one of the most beautiful goddamn things he had ever seen in his entire life. He felt a warmth in his chest, recognizing Eliot was sharing this with _him_.

_Ya know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe; Scarlet billows start to spread; Fancy gloves, oh, wears old MacHeath, babe; So there's never, never a trace of red._

Eliot's head was thrown back towards the ceiling, and he pitched his voice a little louder, the stones reacting by burning brighter.

_Now on the sidewalk, sunny morning don’tcha know; Lies a body just oozin' life; And someone's sneakin' 'round the corner; Could that someone be Mack the Knife?_

He trailed off, the light lingering on the stones a bit before the room faded back to black.

Quentin let out a breath. “Holy shit.”

Eliot laughed. “You like?”

“That was…wow.” He groped with his free hand for his cup, taking a long gulp, dropping his other hand again to the blanket. “You have a really nice voice, you know.”

“Thanks.” He could hear the smile in Eliot’s voice. “Years of musical theater honing that particular craft.” He heard Eliot pick up his cup and take a drink. “I slayed in our high school production of ‘Pippin’.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Quentin huffed a laugh. “I never did anything like that in high school. Much to my mom’s disappointment. She thought I was going to be an _artiste_ like her.”

“She’s an artist?” Quentin nodded, forgetting Eliot couldn’t see it. “What’s her medium?”

“Uh…painting.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, she considers herself a painter. And, I guess technically she _does_ paint things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Um. Well. Pretty much they are all thinly abstracted drawings of penises and vaginas.” He chuckled. “So…they pretty much look _exactly_ like penises and vaginas. If you're interested, I have a half dozen paintings shoved in the back of my closet I could show you.”

“So, like Georgia O’Keefe-type stuff?”

“Not exactly. I should tell you that several of the vaginas have actual teeth, so…”

“Oof.” Eliot laughed. “Think I’ll pass. What’s your dad think of those?”

And, there it was. He felt flooded with guilt as he had allowed himself to be distracted, to forget about his dad for even a couple of minutes. He went silent, closing his eyes.

Eliot seemed to realize immediately. “Shit, Q. I’m really sorry.”

“No. It’s ok. Really.” Quentin was fumbling around for his flashlight and Eliot took his hand, stilling it, squeezing lightly.

Eliot let the silence sit between them for a minute before speaking. “So, what’s he like? Your dad?”

Quentin sighed. “He’s, uh. I dunno? Typical suburban dad from New Jersey, I guess.” He turned his hand around in Eliot’s, clasping them together. “We never really saw eye to eye. He liked to joke that the only things I got from him was his hair color and my first name. We’re just really different.” Eliot squeezed his hand again, reassuring. “He was Quarterback of his high school team. Went All-American, had a full ride to college on a football scholarship.” He sniffed. “I don’t think he was really prepared to handle a nerdy, sullen, clinically depressed kid. Not that I blame him—I didn’t make it easy. But he didn’t even try.” He sighed. “He’s trying now, though, so I guess that’s what counts.”

“Yeah…you could say I never saw eye to eye with my father, either.” Eliot’s voice had a trace of venom in it that surprised him slightly. Quentin realized he had no idea where Eliot even came from, he'd just assumed he had sprung forth into the world dressed to the nines, making his entrance at a garden party on the upper East Side, martini in hand, shaken, not stirred.

He squeezed Eliot’s hand. “So, where're you from?”

He could feel Eliot stiffen beside him, and he took in a long breath, waiting a full moment before answering. It was strange, being here in complete darkness, like they could say things they never could in the harsh light of day. He heard him chuckle awkwardly. “All evidence to the contrary, but I grew up in rural Indiana.”

Quentin couldn't help but bark out an incredulous laugh. “You’re kidding?”

Eliot laughed back. “Nope. Not kidding. Trust me. As soon as I could, I put as much distance between me and that one-horse town…actually, strike that. There were lots of horses there. Still. I blew that frozen banana stand as fast as I could.”

“Is that what your family did? Ranching?” Images of stupid fucking cowboy camp flooded his mind.

“Nope. Nothing even remotely that fancy. We had chickens and cows. They’re dairy farmers.” He shifted a bit beside him, causing their knees to knock together. “I'm the first of my brothers _not_ to carry on the proud tradition of the Waugh family farm.”

“I just can’t even imagine it. I mean, you’re _you_.”

“Yes, well, the fabulous man you have before you is the result of many years of careful cultivation.” He paused, dropping his voice to a near whisper. “No one knows but Margo.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said solemnly, squeezing Eliot’s hand again.

Eliot took in a sharp breath. “And, before you ask, my dad's a massive asshole. He’s referred to me as ‘faggot’ and ‘queer’ since I was ten years old.”

“Oh Jesus, El, I’m sorry.” He genuinely felt terrible, realizing that maybe aloof parents weren’t the worst things in the world.

“No.” Eliot’s tone had brightened a bit. “This isn’t a contest about who had the shittiest parents. The more people I meet, the more I realize that _most_ people have shitty parents. Those who don’t are the rare exceptions, not the rule.”

Quentin tended to agree, thinking of Julia’s harpy of a mother.

“Ok. Enough stalling.” Quentin felt Eliot shift beside him, feeling his body heat as he moved a bit closer. “Quid pro quo, Clarice.”

He felt a bit thrown by the sudden swing in the conversation. “Are you planning on eating my liver with a nice Chianti?”

Eliot chuckled. “Nope. Your turn to sing.”

Quentin shifted a bit away. “Nope. Nuh uh. Trust me. You do _not_ want to hear me sing.”

Eliot moved closer. “Oh, but I do.”

“Eliot. I’m terrible. Really. Ask Penny.” He was definitely not nearly drunk enough for this, and he groped for his cup, draining the rest of it.

“Well, as long as you stay away from Taylor Swift, I think we’ll be alright.” Fucking Penny. “Come on.”

He sighed heavily. “Eliot…”

“Come on, Q. Show me the lights.” His voice was low and soft, and Quentin began to reassess his whole conclusion on the seduction angle.

He blew out a long breath, knowing Eliot wasn’t going to let it go. He cleared his throat, and started tentatively singing a song his dad used to sing to him before bed.

 _Trailer for sale or rent, rooms to let, fifty cents._

The lights came back, glowing faintly, and he nervously looked over at Eliot. But he just smiled at him encouragingly, so Quentin took another breath.

_No phone, no pool, no pets, I ain't got no cigarettes; Ah, but, two hours of pushin' broom; Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room; I'm a man of means by no means…_

He paused, and when he finished, Eliot joined him, perfectly in harmony. _King of the road._ The lights doubled as if they were playing a chord, and Quentin felt breathless in wonder.

“Beautiful,” Eliot agreed, but Quentin realized he was looking just at him. With the dying light as his guide, he reached over and cupped Quentin’s jaw, running his thumb along the stubble on his chin. “There’s just one more thing to show you.”

In the myriad of ways he thought this evening would go, he really hadn't even considered this to be a possibility. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his stomach flipped a bit. “Yeah, ok,” he whispered.

Eliot leaned forward, brushing his lips against his own. The walls suddenly lit again, colors zinging wildly around the cavern as the stones started _singing_. It was almost like when Tibetan monks were chanting, their voices so low they sounded like they were singing in two octaves, but this was higher, a soprano and an alto twining in unison. He pulled back, eyes wide and mouth open. _“Oh!”_

“Yeah. Thought you might like that.” Eliot smiled warmly at him.

Quentin reached forward, pulling him back into a kiss, eyeing the walls as he did so, tracing their colors as they burst on the ceiling. After a few moments, he flicked his eyes towards Eliot, realizing he was staring at _him_ , so he refocused. He tilted his head, closing his eyes and opening his mouth, savoring the taste of Eliot, sighing a bit as he slid his tongue against Quentin’s own. The lights left an afterimage shadow of Eliot burned into his retinas.

They kissed for a long while, and Quentin could almost feel the the music flowing over them, blissfully not really thinking of anything else than enjoying being with Eliot.

Eliot finally pulled back, running his thumb over his chin. “So, Quentin Coldwater, are you impressed?”

Quentin laughed. “Thoroughly.” He reached for Eliot, claiming his mouth in another kiss. The stones sang for them again.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Millennium Center in Cardiff (I'm a big Torchwood fan from back in the day).
> 
> Song credits--Eliot sings _Mack the Knife_ and Quentin sings _King of the Road_. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed--I appreciate any comments and kudos. :)


End file.
